


Five Times Stiles Needed A Crash Course On Wolfy Behavior and the One Time He Figured Shit Out

by 1lostone



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, A truly freakish amount of fluff, Angst, Biting, Freaky Werewolf Dicks™, I named the chapters, M/M, Marking, Oblivious Stiles is oblivious, Possessive Behavior, Scent Marking, Use of parathentials, attempts at humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-22
Updated: 2012-10-22
Packaged: 2017-11-16 19:31:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1lostone/pseuds/1lostone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pretty much what it says on the tin.  Written for hungrylikethewolfie (ladyblahblah) who had a bad day and requested possessive!Derek and Oblivious!Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Stiles Needed A Crash Course On Wolfy Behavior and the One Time He Figured Shit Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladyblahblah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyblahblah/gifts).



**Title:** Five Times Stiles Needed A Crash Course On Wolfy Behavior and the One Time He Figured Shit Out.  
 **Author:** 1lostone  
 **Word Count:** 5204ish  
 **Summary:** Written for hungrylikethewolfie (ladyblahblah) who had a bad day and requested possessive!Derek and Oblivious!Stiles.  
 **Warnings:** I named the chapters. Use of parathentials. Freaky Werewolf Dicks™. Possessive behavior. Marking/Biting. OH LOOK THERE’S ANGST. (I know. Shock-er!)  
 **A/N:** Thanks to Jlm121 for **ALL OF THE EVERYTHING** and to diva0789 for looking it over for me!  Mistakes are mine, so if you see anything feel free to point ‘em out.  
  
  
  
 **-5  Popular is Relative**  
  
Stiles never really saw himself as a popular guy.  
  
For the longest time, he was just with Scott. Best friends. Bros. The textbook definition of “Bromance.” The Scott-n-Stiles show, Beacon Hills chapter.  When that ended, it was a gradual thing. There was Scott-n-Stiles, then Scott-n-Allison, then Scott-n-All Sorts Of Bullshit Werewolf Drama, then Stiles... well. Then Stiles sort of inherited a bunch of people he never dreamed he would be... Well. Not responsible for. It was hard to say you were _responsible_ for a person (a creature?) that could (did.) rip out the throat of something three times as large as your own 147 pounds of fragile skin and bones. Nevertheless, Stiles found himself feeling kind of like he should be packing lunches and kissing boo-boos and wishing Derek’s pack a good day at school.  
  
So somehow the Scott-n-Stiles show morphed into the Stiles-n-Erica-n-Isaac-n-Sometimes-Boyd-If-He-Didn’t-Have-Anything-Better-To-Do show.  Stiles had given this a lot of thought, and he found that he couldn’t pinpoint any one day that he could point to and say, “Yep! This was the day when Erica and Isaac started to give a crap about what I think.” And vice versa.  
  
Oh, it started out slowly. Junior year- Erica needed some help with a project. Isaac and Derek’s apartment was somehow the de facto meeting place for... well. Pretty much everything. Stiles and Erica started planning ideas for their Chemistry project, and Isaac has sort of started to slink closer and closer, offering what were for him pretty timid suggestions. Stiles hadn’t really wanted to examine the way Derek had sort of glared approvingly at him (if a glare could be considered approving) when Stiles had just shifted to include Isaac mid-sentence, like he hadn’t really thought about it.  
  
Senior year there was a definite Stiles-n-Isaac-n-Erica thing. Part of that might have happened when Stiles accepted that Allison filled something for Scott that he really couldn’t match. Oh, they were still friends... it’s just that the Scott-n-Stiles show was more of that cool filler band that no one really expected to like than an actual show.  Of all the unexpected things Scott and Jackson had began to sort of work together. Sometimes. When they weren’t hating each other with the burning passion of ten-thousand fiery suns. And it wasn’t that Stiles was jealous. (Much.)  
  
Mostly he was just glad to have found his own niche. Lydia and Allison were best friends. Scott and Jackson were best frenemies. Isaac and Erica and Stiles were best friends. Derek and Boyd? Well, Stiles never really bothered much with questioning that shit because he wasn’t actually stupid. Boyd was who the pack could go to if they didn’t want to chance one of Derek’s moods. In theory.  In fact, _Stiles_ was somehow the one everyone came to when it came to a problem they couldn’t quite work out. Brute force? Derek was their wolf. Planning that involved research or some sort of actual plan? That was Stiles’ department.  
  
Which had nothing really to do with being popular. _Convenient,_ maybe. Comfortable, definitely. But Stiles never bothered to kid himself that he was popular. And he never really minded. He liked that Derek’s pack felt comfortable enough to come to him if they needed something. After they graduated, that just kind of coalesced into .. well. Not to be mushy or anything, but sometimes Stiles actually felt like one of the pack.  
  
There was a brief period where Stiles thought he _was_ actually part of the pack. That line that was rather carefully drawn between him, Allison and Lydia had never been blurred. Even when Peter was doing his absolute best to stir up all the shit his sassy little self could stir up, that line between pack and notpack; human and nothuman had never been crossed.  
  
Toed a couple of times.  
  
Like the time Allison was bitten by a rival Alpha. The way Scott and the other wolves had reacted had been nothing short of brutal. They’d _obliterated_ the wolf who had dared to try to turn the mightiest Argent into one of the monsters. For the two weeks until the full moon it had been nothing but solicitude and nervous, scared what-ifs. Until she stayed human. Then the pack had stepped back from her, leaving the humans on the outside looking in, noses pressed against the cold, glass windows of a house they’d never be allowed to enter.  
  
And the time with Lydia? When Peter had proven yet again that as far as he was concerned, humans were just about as helpful as a used condom, crumpled and forgotten in the corner when he was done with them? For Lydia that had been literal. For a week she’d been completely catatonic- her mind turned away from the deeds Peter had influenced her  to do. Something that Jackson couldn’t protect her from. Something that she couldn’t control herself. Turns out, once a werewolf had access to your mind, he could revisit it whenever he needed to. (Stiles privately theorized that Lydia’s lycanthrope immunity made her even more susceptible to Peter’s sick games. They way he figured it, humans could either protect physically or mentally against a creature that was more powerful than themselves. Lydia was immune to being bitten, so her mind was fragile. Especially a mind as well-ordered and intelligent as hers... well. To Peter it must have seemed like an all-you-could-eat buffet after a week of fasting.) The pack had rallied around her. Taken down Peter for good this time. Allison and Stiles had personally seen to it that Peter’s ashes were strewn across as much of the Pacific Northwest as possible. It wasn’t until the last flake of ash flew away that Lydia had snapped out of her fugue state. She hadn’t really wanted much of the pack around her after that. She’d gone off to college. At first it was only Jackson that had followed her. Then had come Allison. That Scott had followed Allison hadn’t exactly been a shock. Stiles had tried, but had been politely told that his services weren’t needed. The fact that Scott’s pack had broken off from Derek’s pack hadn’t really come as a surprise to anyone.  
  
It had only been a surprise that Stiles wasn’t invited.  
  
But the real clincher; the thing that told Stiles that there was much more ‘convenience’ to his accessibility than ‘popularity?’ That was when he and Derek fucked for the first time. Stiles hadn’t exactly been experienced. (At college, whenever Stiles had been close to hooking up with someone, the Cockblock Team of Erica and Isaac managed to waylay whoever it was that Stiles had shown an interest in.  It had almost been funny, except when it wasn’t. He’d never really understood the weird looks that he’d gotten from them, like he’d simultaneously managed to do something that made them want to pat him on the head and betray their souls in one fell swoop.)  
  
Maybe it had been a little naive of him, but Stiles had thought that somehow a slightly adrenaline-fueled hookup might signify something more meaningful. Lasting. That maybe the years of pining in high school, and the stupid trust and loyalty would somehow magically transform itself into a Relationship (capital R).  But it didn’t. Erica, Boyd and Isaac had been strangely silent on the topic, changing the subject so many times with such abject creativity whenever Stiles brought it up that he’d finally just... stopped.  No one explicitly pointed it out to him, but Stiles finally clued into the fact that if someone like Derek Hale wanted to use him for tension releif, or a fuckbuddy, or whatever... he should just smile and thank whoever was up there for the opportunity. That he should just enjoy it while he could. Right?  
  
(Right.)  
  
 **-4  Freaky Werewolf Dicks™**  
  
The thing was- Stiles really, really, really liked having sex.  
  
It took Stiles awhile to cotton onto the fact that of all the people Derek Hale _could_ be fucking, for some strange reason it was him that Derek wanted. When he maybe sort of might have mentioned that to Isaac, the younger wolf had given him such a look of confusion that Stiles hadn’t mentioned it again. Isaac had almost looked insulted somehow, and that? Well that sort of broke Stiles’ brain a little.  
  
The thing was? Derek really, really, _really_ liked being Stiles’ first. Had Stiles been a little less secure in his awesomeness, he might have been a little nervous that his hurried fumbling was a little rushed. Or Virgin-y. Or something. But it was one thing to go from daydreaming a few (thousand) times about kissing someone, and then find yourself pressed against the wall; the solid heat of another person pressing so closely that you honestly couldn’t tell whose heartbeat was whose.  
  
He’d almost hadn’t driven home for break. Some friends in his mythological creatures class had asked Stiles to go to the beach with them for Spring break. Stiles had been pretty much putty in the hands of Erica’s puppy eyes, and had only thought of going to Malibu for a few minutes.  
  
(Okay. An hour. Tops.)  
  
One minute they were running, Derek’s fingers wrapped so tightly around Stiles wrist that Stiles could feel the fragile bones shift and rub together. The next minute, the trap had been sprung and the shrieks of the Ophiotaurus rang off the rock walls of the cliff, causing Derek to wince at the sound.  (What the actual fuck. An _Ophiotaurus?_! In Beacon Hills? His _life._ ) Stiles barely had time to process that Derek had jerked his wrist, twisting his body so that Stiles’ back was protected against the cliff face, Derek between him and the now-burning Ophiotaurus. There’d been another shriek as the Ophiotaurus fell, then a terrible crashing sound as the next trap caused an avalanche of rocks and sand to fall on top of it. The good news was that the debris put out the fire. The bad news was that burning Ophiotaurus really didn’t smell all that appetizing. Sort of like spoiled steak and ozone.  
  
Derek had been silent in Stiles’ jeep on the way to Derek’s apartment. He’d been silent until he’d noticed the way that Stiles favored his wrist just slightly, until he insisted that Stiles follow him to his apartment with a grunt and a jerk of his head. Stiles had sighed, put his jeep in park and meekly followed Derek through the lobby and up the stairs. He’d sat there meekly while Derek wrapped his wrist, then sat there not so meekly when Derek had bent down to (of all things) kiss Stiles’ forehead.  
  
Later, Stiles would insist that it was the forehead kiss that did it. You didn’t just throw down a _forehead kiss_ if you didn’t feel affection for someone, right?  
  
Right?  
  
So, so wrong.    
  
Neither one of them had been all that meek a little later when Stiles had found his back introduced to the wall, his head _thunking_ hard enough that he bit his tongue. Or maybe it was Derek’s tongue pressing against his that made Stiles see stars. Stiles had been a little overwhelmed, going from - _hope he doesn’t know I’m thinking this_ \- to  - _holy fucking god his **mouth**_ \- in only a few seconds.  
  
Derek had pulled off his mouth only once to growl “You’re okay with this?” before Stiles had practically lunged back into the kiss, wrapping his legs around Derek’s waist for good measure. He’d felt Derek’s lips smile against his briefly before Derek had just swung Stiles around, picking him up and walking with him to the bedroom. Stiles was pretty sure he’d managed to kick one of the picture frames off the wall on his way back there, but neither he nor Derek had been overly worried at the time. (Isaac, however was less than thrilled. Apparently he took his hand-painted seascapes _very_ seriously.)    
  
Stiles had read about frotting before, of course. He’d never really thought it would be his thing. Grinding against the inside of your clothes just seemed a little pathetic somehow.  
  
But he had never really factored in what it would be like with another person.    
  
Derek’s mouth. Deep, drugging kisses that made Stiles arch into Derek’s heat, whining a little pathetically when their bodies had to separate to get their shirts off. The solid weight of Derek’s body pressed against Stiles’, from chest to pelvis. Stiles had fallen on Derek’s bed with his legs spread open, and Derek seemed perfectly fine where he lay. Or the heat of Derek’s body. Stiles didn’t really know if that was a werewolf thing or what, but every stupid little shiver that wracked Stiles’ frame seemed to make Derek press closer.    
  
There was one second where Derek grabbed Stiles’ wrists to press them against the bed and Stiles had flinched from his earlier injury where he’d been almost sure that Derek would stop. He’d reached up to undo Derek’s fly with hands that shook. Derek had moaned, his eyes fluttering a little when Stiles lifted him out of his jeans. Derek twisted and fumbled into the drawer next to the bed, and Stiles had tried not to look too much like a dumbass when he stared down at Derek’s thick, red cock in his hand, trying not to be too obvious about licking his lips. His own dick ached, rubbing uncomfortably against his zipper.  
  
Then it was just the press and the slide of skin, the heat and slickness of sweat until Stiles couldn’t catch his breath. Every time he sucked in oxygen, Derek’s mouth was on his, insistent.  Derek’s mouth moved to Stiles’ jaw, then down to  the side of his neck until his nose was buried under Stiles’ ear. When Derek bit him, Stiles came, blind for a few seconds while his body tried to catch up.  
  
It had surprised Stiles when Derek had pulled away, grinning down at him rather goofily. He hadn't realized that Derek could do ‘goofy.’  “Sorry. That was... kind of fast.”  Stiles had tried not to shiver at dark, breathless sound of Derek’s voice. He failed miserably.  
  
“It’s not like I have anything to compare it to.”  Stiles had forced a wry smile, arching his neck so that he could reach Derek’s lips with his, mind still flailing at the fact that _he was allowed to do this now._  
  
If grinning goofily had caused Stiles a moment of shock, seeing Derek staring down at him with his mouth in an almost perfect ‘o’ of shock kind of broke his brain. He would have blushed, certain that there probably could have been some better way of saying-- yep, no longer a virgin, totes thanking you for the messy sex by the way!-- but before Stiles could wince and apologize, something had crossed over Derek’s face and they were pressed together, sharing breath, kissing so deeply that Stiles couldn’t quite remember exactly what it was that he’d said that had sparked this reaction.  
  
He was so, so not complaining.  
  
Stiles had never thought he’d be one of those guys who anthropomorphized various body parts belonging to his boyfriends, but holy purple Jesus on a polka-dotted pogo stick. Stiles _seriously_ loved Derek’s dick. He loved to play with it. He loved to touch it and kiss it and shove himself down on it. Stiles loved, l _oved_ , absolutely fucking _adored_ the sounds he forced out of Derek’s throat when he did something especially well. He’d always been well above the learning curve and knew Derek liked the smug little smirk Stiles would give him when he’d successfully tried something new. The third- or fifteenth (or hell, who kept count?!) time Stiles and Derek had had sex, Stiles had discovered that apparently some alpha werewolves could do this really ridiculously hot thing with their dick that kind of stuck the two of them together. Freaky Werewolf Dicks™ for the win, ladies and gentlemen. It didn’t happen often. Usually the first time they hooked up when Stiles was back in Beacon Hills on a break, or right before he left to go back to school.... but oh. Oh, how Stiles lov-. _Wanted_ that feeling of connection between them.  
  
Stiles told himself that he was completely on board with being tension relief, or an adrenaline-fueled fuckbuddy. He knew that he wasn’t exactly ugly, but him and Derek? Together? Ha. Completely laughable. But when Derek was spooned up behind him, and Stiles could still feel his hole fluttering as it stretched and relaxed around the thick cock buried inside of him, he could pretend that it was really Stiles that Derek wanted. Even if just for a little while.  
  
****  
 **-3 Whereupon Derek’s Pack Can Cockblock Like Nobody’s Business**  
  
The year before he graduated college, Stiles felt that had a pretty good grasp on the dynamics of inter-pack politics. Well, for a human pack member.  
  
Stiles didn’t really get what it felt like to literally lose yourself (Derek would argue that it was more like finding yourself) in the pull of the moon, but he’d watched the process enough times between Scott (even though Scott was still part of the Scott-n-Allison show and Stiles had somehow become the Stiles-n-Erica-n-Isaac-n-Sometimes-Boyd-If-He-Didn’t-Have-Anything-Better-To-Do show, they talked _all the time_.) Erica, Boyd, Isaac and Derek to know what it was like. Or, to know as closely as any pure human could know. (Except possibly Lydia, but Stiles really didn’t like to think about that.)  
  
What he didn’t get was whether or not the goddamn almost psychic ability to cockblock him was part of what they inherited, along with the werewolf makeovers,  faster reflexes and super healing.    
  
He hadn’t really wanted to go to the party in the first place. Well, he did. But they always seemed to end up with him alone and wishing for what he couldn’t have, so Stiles had given it a break for awhile. But the hot guy with the plaid and the Birkenstocks? Any other time Stiles would be taking a picture to send to Scott so that they could giggle over the fact that the guy was trying too hard.  For Christ’s sake, he was wearing a _Nirvana t-shirt_. Stiles would have been willing to bet that the Birkenstock guy was also a vegan. Scott would have insisted that he was a card-carrying member of Peta, and that _really_ wasn’t product in his hair... it was actually that perfect all. the. time.  
  
(There was a reason he and Scott had been best friends for so long. The fact that they were both kind of dicks was just one of them.)  
  
Still, when Stiles found himself in the corner of the dingy basement with his back pressed against the wall, staring up at the Birkenstock guy kind of shocked, watching as he moved in for a kiss he figured that he should have expected the outcome. Birkenstock guy had one hand on Stiles’ hip, and the fingers of his other hand were stroking lightly over Stiles’ slightly-parted lips when Erica and Isaac swooped in like the cockblocking angels they were.  
  
Before Derek (BD in Stiles’ head) when Erica or Isaac had shown up at the same party he was at, Stiles had been kind of amused. He didn’t quite get the almost... betrayed... way they looked at him when Stiles tried to work his sexytiems magic, but he figured that it had something to do with some of those finer points of pack behavior that stiles wasn’t quite privy towards. After Derek? (AD) Jesus. You would have thought he was roasting their still-beating hearts over a slow fire. When Stiles had asked what was up- ‘cuz seriously what the fuck?!, Erica had just looked at him like he was too stupid to live. Isaac had always changed the subject. To say that their refusal to just answer the goddamn question was frustrating was kind of the textbook definition of annoying as fuck.  
  
It kind of pissed him off in a way. Didn’t he have the right to try and find someone that would love him back? Stiles got it. He really did. And it was probably a little pathetic of him to take the scraps that Derek was willing to throw at him, but that didn’t mean that he could make himself stop.  It was just that sometimes... sometimes, Stiles just wanted to try and see if he could maybe find some sort of connection with someone else; maybe break out of this limbo he found himself in. Was that so wrong?  
  
Erica and Isaac apparently thought so. Jeez. The Birkenstock guy had left so quickly that for a second Stiles thought he’d actually scampered out of his Birkenstocks. And yeah, the way Erica and Isaac had sniffed at him, then proceeded to _strip down to barely decent and rub their skin all over him_ had been kind of fucked up. And hot. But mostly fucked up.  
  
Then Isaac had jerked him by the hand and Erica had stomped after him with a extremely annoyed “Stiles! You have _got_ to stop doing this!” that had left him completely and utterly confused.  
  
Turned out, Stiles didn’t know shit about pack dynamics.  
  
****  
 **-2  So That just happened.**  
  
“Look. I’m... hey. _Hey_! Derek! Watch it.”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
“Now you listen here, Mr. Sourwolf. I am not just going to fucking leave with you whenever you decide to throw me some fucking--- _mmmmph_!”  
  
...  
  
....  
  
“No. Oh. Oh god. Hmmmmm. Oh, that’s.  Mmmm, Derek.”  
  
“ _Stiles_.”  
  
“No! You just stand over there. Jesus what the fuck is _wrong_ with you guys? Last week I’m like the werewolf scratching post, and now you’re _throwing people out of fucking windows_? Karl has been my study partner for like two _years,_ Derek. We have like two paragraphs left on our paper- the last fucking paper of my college career. I don’t care how good of a kisser you are, that shit is not okay!”  
  
 _“God_ , this is so. You’re....”  
  
“Are you _growling_ at me? You know what? That’s it. I’m. I’m just done with this shit.”  
  
“Please. Don’t... do this.”  
  
....  
  
....  
  
“I think I’ve heard you say please exactly one time in the six years that I’ve known you.”  
  
“I’ll say it again. Please, Stiles. Don’t... just. Just don’t. _Please_.”  
  
“Don’t... what? Don’t go and see Karl? Derek, you like. _He bounced on the concrete._ You’re just lucky that he didn’t see your face before you grabbed him. Look. No, don’t make that face. Hey, stop, okay. Just look at me for a second. I don’t fucking read minds, Derek! Just. What is it? You’re going to have to explaining things to the dumb little human because I. Don’t. Understand. This. Shit!”  
  
“You don’t-- understand?”  
  
“No! Je _sus_! I understand that you’re being weird! Erica and Isaac are like acting _strange as fuck_ and no one will explain it to me! You know what? Forget it. I can’t do this right now. I have to go and visit my friend. You might not get that, since you don’t have any friends that aren’t under your little werewolf voodoo, but I’m going to go. If you want to talk, then you can just talk to me when I’m back home, okay?”  
  
“... if that’s what you want.”  
  
“What I want? Since when do you give a shit about what _I_ want, Derek?”  
  
****  
 **-1 Explaining Things To The Dumb Little Human**  
  
The last time that Derek had paced this much, Stiles knew some serious shit was going down.  He made himself sit calmly on Derek’s couch, waiting for Derek’s explanation.  
  
Stiles had began to understand that he had fucked up about the time that the Erica and Isaac show had moved back to Beacon HIlls. When they started ignoring his texts, he’d been just about certain that he’d missed something really important. The fact that he felt equally guilty and pissed was just par for the course with Derek (And frankly with Derek’s pack!) He’d been feeling this way since Scott had first thrown him across the locker room.  
  
“Well?”  Stiles couldn’t help the nervous, twitching way his voice squeaked.  
  
“I do not understand how....”  
  
Stiles forced himself to take a deep breath. Derek didn’t really do emotions, and watching him stand there, almost vibrating in place with indecision was ... well. He looked like Stiles felt. Stiles bit his lip. He’d known what he had come here to do, and even though it was going to be ridiculously painful, he figured he would have to just do it quickly. Like ripping off a band-aid.  
  
“I am in love with you.”  
  
“I think we should break uh--- _what_?!”  Stiles blinked, watching as Derek actually flinched as though Stiles had punched him.  “ _What_ did you just say?”  He watched Derek’s face go from shocked, to so full of pain that it was Stiles’ turn to wince, to carefully and utterly blank. Derek’s fists clenched at his side and Stiles found himself on his feet, walking over to Derek and grabbing his hand, only to have Derek take one large step back away from him.  
  
Derek was carefully looking everywhere but at Stiles. His clenched fists were the only sign that he was upset at all. Stiles could see that the muscles in his arm were almost totally rigid. He opened his mouth to speak, blurting out words before his brain filtered them.  
  
“How can you be in love with me?”  
  
“ _How?”_  
  
Stiles blinked. That was kind of unexpected. He gave Derek a look and took a small step forward. Some small hopeful thing started low in his gut. Stiles was afraid if he acknowledged it, then it would disappear.  
  
Derek’s gaze jerked to Stiles’ before he looked away again, his face still carefully blank. If Stiles hadn’t heard the complete and utter confusion in the one syllable, he wouldn’t have realized that Derek was feeling anything at all. Even his eyes were blank. He took a tiny step forward.  “Derek. We’ve spent the last four years as fuckbuddies. Exactly when did you decide you were in love with me?”  
  
Derek launched himself forward so quickly that Stiles would have flinched back if his reflexes had been fast enough. As it was, Stiles was a little shocked when Derek only cupped his face with hands that shook slightly.    
  
“You. _Stiles._ You are my mate. I’ve marked you. I live with your scent on my skin. How can you possibly think that. That I...” Derek reached up with his thumbs to brush them across Stiles’ cheekbones. The small, intimate gesture completely floored him. “Yet you look for someone else at every party. You want... someone _else_!” The last ‘else’ faded into a growl that made Stiles’ skin break out into gooseflesh, yet Derek’s grip was still gentle.  
  
Stiles gaped at him. He opened his mouth. Shut it. Opened it again. Derek started to shift back on his feet and Stiles gripped Derek’s hands, pressing them to his cheeks.  “I’m not sure that you’re aware that humans don’t instinctively understand the finer points of werewolf behavior.”  He leaned forward to kiss Derek’s lips, a brief peck. It was over in a heartbeat. Derek had moved away from him and had his back flush against the door, looking at Stiles with a classic ‘does not compute’ face.  
  
“I thought you were just tolerating me. Patronizing the human who is... rather pathetically crazy about you.”  Stiles pressed his body against Derek’s, his heart beating so quickly that he just knew that Derek could hear how nervous he was. He licked his lips and leaned forward, rising up on his tiptoes just slightly so that he could kiss the hollow of skin just under Derek’s Adam’s apple. Derek shuddered under him and Stiles pressed his mouth closer, sucking a mark into Derek’s skin.  
  
Derek _melted_.  
  
If Stiles hadn’t been pressed so closely to him, Derek would have flopped down to a little puddle of werewolf drool on the rug. Stiles stepped back, brushing his lips over the mark he made.  “So _that’s_ what that means.”  
  
“Hmm?” Stiles had heard Derek sound less blissed-out after he’d _come_.  
  
“That you’re mine. And everyone will know it.”  Stiles watched as Derek’s fingers came up to press against the mark. For the second time in his life, Stiles watched a rather goofy grin steal across Derek’s lips.  
  
“Yeah.” Derek started to say something else, but Stiles was kissing him too hard to really focus.  
  
****  
 **+1  Epilogue**  
  
“Oh my _GOD_.”  
  
“Ugh, I know. Can’t you make them stop? It was bad enough when Stiles was hiding it. Now it’s like... “ Isaac made a whimpering sound. “It’s worse than hearing my _parents_ fuck.”    
  
Erica stood there, looking horrified at the back hallway, listening to the energetic bouncing of Derek’s box springs with her lips drawn back in a rictus of horror better reserved for psychotic Hunters and rouge Kanimas. Slowly her hands came up to cover her ears, pressing as though that would block the moaning and whining and...  
  
Erica turned tail and fled, Isaac only centimeters behind her. Isaac very carefully didn’t meet her gaze as they ran down the small pathway, stopping short when they saw Boyd calmly leaning against the door of his truck, texting someone on his phone.  
  
“Oh jesus, am I glad to see you. You won’t believe what’s going on in--”  
  
“Yep. I would. Not my fault that the two of you are just as clueless as Derek and his mate.”  
  
Isaac gasped. Erica just glared with her hands on her hips.  “What do you mean?”  
  
Boyd shrugged. “Well, you weren’t the one that made sure that they were trapped by the damn snake cow thing. But did they figure it out? No. No they did not. What about the absolutely _painful_ conversation about knotting? Did Stilinski go to either of you two with that little nugget of awkwardness? No. No he did _not._ The best you two could do was rub all over him like a goddamn cat.” Boyd slid his phone into his pocket, crossing his arms over his chest. “It took me almost six goddamn years to get them to this point and I’m not going to have a little bit of squeamishness ruin it.”  
  
Boyd reached into his jacket pocket and tossed the both of them a pair of ear plugs.  
  
“Now man the fuck up.” He cocked his head, wincing. Boyd walked around to the driver’s side and slid in, reaching over to pop open the passenger side door. “On second thought, it sounds like they’re starting round two. You guys want to go for some pizza?”  
  
  
THE END!

### As always, thanks for commenting and the concrit, either here [tumblr](http://1lostone.tumblr.com/), or [twitter](https://twitter.com/1geekgirl)!

**Author's Note:**

> **********  
> A/N: A long time ago, in a fandom far far away, I asked a Trek writer, ladyblahblah, to beta my first Kirk/Spock fic. I literally was reading one of her stories and was like I LOVE YOU PLEASE MAKE MY STORY NOT SUCK. Oh man. Her knowledge of all things Trek is truly amazing, and I am still grateful for her not laughing at me for daring to randomly msg her on livejournal. Two and a half years later, Teen Wolf happened. I hope you like your fic, bb. I think I got all of it in, except the realllly explicit sexy times.
> 
> P.S. I claim the phrase Freaky Werewolf Dicks™ for the entire Teen Wolf fandom. :D


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